The secret weapon of the Good
by Debbie-MaryJane
Summary: Minerva tells a story about a child she knew. Or she thought she knew.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and stuff. Sigh.

A/N: Tuuuuuut.

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'I always believed you were kind, one of the good side. You wore a good name, so I thought you would be good. You were in the same house as Harry Potter and his friends. You never hurt them, you just were someone of their house.

I often gave you extra lessons so you would know as much as you could bear. You were a shadow of wisdom, wisdom, shimmering through your eyes. I wanted to make you perfect, a perfect witch, so you'd never be in the crowd again. Yeah, you were in the crowd, always... I believed you were kind, but unnoticed. Everyone's attention went to Harry Potter and You-Know-Who. You were alone and your eyes shimmered of pure wisdom, like you knew so many things. I often wondered if you knew more then Hermoine Granger.

I still remember the look on your face when I spoke to you and asked if you wanted a few extra lessons. I still can remember your voice, your answer: "Why?" I spoke about You-Know-Who and your eyes became darker. "I want to help you to defeat him, the Headmaster said you were special and we needed to get you extra lessons to stand your fight against him. He didn't say much more and I don't want to know much more. Professor Dumbledore must have a very good reason to offer you more wisdom than the others of your house-mates. I hope you won't tell the others that you get extra lessons, otherwise they all want extra lessons," that was my explanation. Was it enough to you? You only smiled and nodded in silence. You learned so much and right now, I hate Dumbledore for making me teach you too much.

I only knew that you were special and that you were having your own little fight with You-Know-Who. I wanted to help you. No-one else knew, Harry was having his own fight. Everyone was paying attention at him and no-one remembered you. You were all alone, hidden in the darkness.

"I don't understand this spell, professor," you once said. It was a simple spell, a spell to let flowers jump out your wand. "What's the meaning of a few flowers? I always knew Dumbledore made this useless spells... Like this one, "Avis" Do you want some poop on your head?" you muttered and I forced myself in a small smile, but I wanted to burst out in laughter. Why hadn't I seen the look on your face at that moment? You were looked so confused, why didn't I asked why you didn't enjoy those spells?

Years came and went and Harry Potter almost overruled You-Know-Who. At the end, you had learned everything. I couldn't teach you more, there was nothing more to teach you. You were smarter than Hermoine Granger, I told you. You smiled a little and walked away. You always walked away, it seemed that you didn't care.

Dumbledore told me you were still fighting. Every day you looked tired but you smiled when you saw me. Were you laughing about me? I learned you everything and so did your teacher for Potions. You learned how to make the most dangerous potions. I heard Professor Lupin was surprised about your knowledge about the Dark Arts.

I often found you in the hallways, muttering things about "stupid crazy wizards" while Dumbledore was smiling to you, offering you yellowish candy. "I prefer chewing gum, thanks," you smiled, every time. But he never offered you some of those Mugglecandy. I never saw you chewing those Mugglecandy.

Everything went okay those last days. You were the smartest of your year, thought you never got high grades, you just didn't want to get attention from others. You stayed in your crowd. "She got to fight, she can't keep on studying, you know. Shall I offer her a bottle of Firewiskey for her birthday?" Dumbledore said when I mentioned it. It wasn't even your birthday in Juni. You were born in the winter, you told me. You told me that you still could feel the coldness, the snow on your face, the Christmas tree with candles when you were five years old. It was your last real Christmas, you told me. You never told me more.

You-Know-Who came in Hogwarts the last days of your seventh year. He and his followers. We were all fighting. Good against bad. Harry against You-Know-Who. It was a horrible fight, the children were all hiding. I still remember I thought about you, I remember I hoped that you were okay. It was so horrible.

After hours, at it seemed to me, there was a flashing light and You-Know-Who fell down. He was bleeding, Harry Potter had killed him with the sword of Gryffindor. Harry fell down too. Everything became silent. Everyone stopped fighting for a moment. The Deatheaters fought with despair in their eyes. We fought with new hope.

I saw you crawl on the floor, covered with blood. Your face was red, your hair was red, your clothes were red. You crawled towards You-Know-Who while Harry Potter was defeating Bellatrix Lestrange. When you reached him, you dropped yourself on his body. I saw you were crying over his cold body. He was dying and you knew it. He raised a hand, laid it on your face and –to my surprise- he smiled. The next moment he was gone. We could feel it, like the world found back air to breath in without fear.

You slammed on his chest, screaming. "No! Father! Father!" I heard you screaming, everyone was silent and shocked. So was I. Dumbledore was smiling sadly. "Every side lose someone they love," he said with pure sadness in his blue eyes without sparkles. You cried. After a while you became silent. Harry Potter pulled out his wand and wanted to curse you. Dumbledore stopped him and said: "Wait, let her choose which path she want to take." Harry was confused. Did Dumbledore knew? Did he knew who you really were?

You raised on your feet and looked to everyone in the room. There were Deatheaters, frozen in fear. You took the sword and smiled sadly, removing the blood of your father. Your eyes were dark, but I still could see the wisdom, shimmering and burning. You were so wise and I hoped you would make the right decision. I still remember how you stood there, all alone. Everyone was afraid, so afraid of you. I smiled to you, hoping you'd stay on the good side.

Dumbledore just looked at you, his blue eyes sparkling. "Daughter of the Heir of Gryffindor and the Heir of Slytherin," you whispered, holding the sword of Gryffindor.

"She's his daughter!" Harry whispered heavily, hoping someone would knock her out or something. He believed you were dangerous. His friends believed that too.

"Well... Why aren't you fighting?" you asked with a cold voice, like ice. The Deatheaters looked to us, the good wizards and witches. "Not them, you fools!" you screamed and then I finally noticed that you really were like your father. The Deatheaters yelled and attacked. You fought too. A new dark enemy had risen. You...' I whisper.

You're smiling, a soft smile. Your face, surrounded by blood, your eyes a kind of golden-brown with green sparkles. 'Nice story,' you whisper and you close your eyes.

Years were passed, years of fear, until now. You're dying. Harry Potter is laying next to you, his green eyes already broken. He's dead and you're the next, I know... I still can see the wisdom shining through your eyes. 'How could you be so bad?' I ask, tears welling up in my eyes. I never really cried in public, but you made me cry. 'Who said I was on the bad side?' you whisper with a soft smile on your lips. Suddenly I realise that since you were the new dark enemy the Deatheaters were caught and brought to Azkaban. They were all sent by you, on a mission and those missions failed always. 'I'm not who you think I am, professor,' you whisper with closed eyes. When your last breath escapes, you smile. I whisper your name and close my eyes. The secret weapon of the Good was this child. You.


End file.
